


Tell Me It's Over, I'll Still Love You the Same

by illgiveyouallofme



Series: The Lighthouse Keepers [2]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: And there is a lot of talking in these chapters, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Pre-Poly, Reunions, Slow Burn, treasure island whomst, wherein these men will TALK about their feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 09:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21096992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illgiveyouallofme/pseuds/illgiveyouallofme
Summary: John finally arrives at the Lighthouse.  Reunions are had, wine is drunk, and pining has happened.





	Tell Me It's Over, I'll Still Love You the Same

**Author's Note:**

> Ok everyone, here is Part 2 of the Lighthouse Keepers! I'm excited to share this part with you -- I hope you're ready for some more Soft James!
> 
> Chapter title from "Call Me" by Shinedown.

He was just about to knock at the door again when it swung open, startling him.

“Mr. Silver, I presume,” said the man at the door. A tall man with piercing blue eyes. There was only one man John knew of at this address who would fit such a description. And who would know his name. 

“Thom — Lord Hamilton,” he corrected quickly. 

The other man chuckled, deep and melodious. “I haven’t been ‘Lord Hamilton,’ in a long time, Mr. Silver,” he said, “Thomas will do just fine. Now, why don’t you come in?” 

John followed Thomas —_ Thomas! _— into the lighthouse, looking everywhere but at the man in front of him. From his vantage point, he could see a small kitchen and a sparsely-furnished parlor, complete with a collection of books, of course. Further back, through the parlor, he could see a set of winding stairs. 

“I’m afraid James is rather busy at the moment,” Thomas said, breaking John‘s resolve not to look at him. “His shift ends in about fifteen minutes. Why don’t we sit down and get acquainted?” 

“All right,” John said warily. Now that Thomas had drawn his attention, he found he couldn’t look away. Despite Thomas’s arm still vaguely gesturing at the table, the two men stared at each other, as if neither could believe the other was real. And it was true: even though John had known Thomas was still alive, had been the one to find him, now that he was in the same room, he could scarcely believe it. Silver had heard about the hard labor on the plantation from the man he’d sent to find Thomas, and, from the look of Thomas, his man had been right. John was not looking at the stately lord that haunted Flint’s memory and Silver’s dreams, instead, he was looking at a man who, like himself, had come to know the toil of life, of all the hardships it could throw. Still, Thomas stood with a kind of regal grace that reminded Silver of royalty— not the kind of “royalty” he’d briefly been — but of a true royalty, a nobility that coursed through one’s veins. _Like Madi, _he thought, heart breaking as it always did when he thought of her. 

“Come, John, sit. You must be tired after such a long journey. Would you like a cup of tea?” Thomas asked. 

“Do you happen to have anything stronger?” asked John, easing himself into a chair. Thomas was right, he _was_ tired. 

“Of course,” Thomas said, smiling. He busied himself by getting two glasses and a bottle from the cupboard, and pouring them each a rather large portion of rum. 

“We never drank much, back in London,” Thomas said after a beat, apparently realizing that Silver wasn’t going to speak first, “but when we got here, well, it just seemed to make things easier. You see, he was afraid to tell me all that he’d done. He practically tiptoed around me for weeks, until one day I decided to get him drunk and be done with it.” He winked at John, as though he’d been a co-conspirator. John felt his heart stutter in his chest. _How could Thomas not be angry with him? Did Flint not tell him of all the time John knew he was alive, but did nothing to save him?  
_

“I’m sorry—” John started, feeling overcome by the man sitting before him. Once he started, the words flowed nonstop, painful in their need to spill out, “I’m sorry I returned him to you in chains. I’m sorry I encouraged his path of destruction. That I stopped encouraging it. That I knew you were alive and I didn’t, I didn’t—” God, when did he become so sincere about everything? He missed the man he’d been before, when he could spin stories entirely out of thin air, with no regard for the truth at all. All he could do now, it seemed, was speak the truth, and it _hurt_. 

“John, stop.” said Thomas, his voice commanding even as his eyes stayed kind. He put his hand over John’s where it gripped his cup, his touch surprisingly grounding. So shocking was it to be touched by this man that John didn’t even react to the familiarity that Thomas used. 

“You do not need to apologize to me. Not ever. You gave me a life, when I’d resigned to never have one. You gave me James, when I’d thought him lost to me forever. For that, I am eternally grateful — and nothing can change that. I neither want, nor need, your apology. I truly hope that isn’t why you came here.”

“I didn’t — I don’t — no.” John said, looking down at the table, suddenly the most interesting thing John had ever observed. He spoke to it instead of Thomas: “That isn’t why I came here.” 

The table didn’t reply, and for a second, he didn’t think Thomas would either. But then he did. “And besides,” he said, with an air of finality, “if you truly believe that any chains can hold James, well, you clearly don’t know him as well as I thought you did.” 

The clock chimed loudly, startling John. Eleven o’clock. The end of Flint’s shift on the light deck had arrived. 

***

John knew the moment Flint entered the kitchen, even though his back was turned to the stairway. It seemed all the air had escaped the room and John shivered as he felt the familiar weight of Flint’s gaze on his back. 

“You came,” Flint said. God, how John had missed his voice. Just those two words and John felt himself coming home. _Finally_. 

Slowly, he stood and turned to face his Captain. Where the years had been difficult for John, they had been good to Flint. He looked younger than when Silver had last seen him, lighter somehow. As though the weight he’d carried since before John had known him had simply slipped off his shoulders. Slipped off his shoulders and materialized on the kitchen chair in front of him, he realized. His eyes raked over Flint, clocking all the changes in him: the curl of his hair just above his ears, the shock of white in his beard that John was sure hadn’t been there before, the silver stud gone from his ear. 

He didn’t know why — refused to think about why — but that last observation cut deeply. 

“I came,” he replied, caught in the green sea of Flint’s eyes. He’d dreamed about those eyes nightly, but his dreams could never capture their sheer depth or expressiveness. 

Before he knew it, Flint had bounded across the room and crushed John in his embrace. So fierce was the hug that at first, John’s hand instinctively went to his belt, reaching for a cutlass that wasn’t there anymore. After a moment, he realized Flint wasn’t trying to kill him, was in fact trying to welcome him, and he relaxed and lost himself in the embrace. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he chanted against Flint’s shoulder, not knowing exactly what he was apologizing for. But God, he had so much to apologize for. 

“You’re here, it’s all right, you’re here,” Flint kept saying, his voice sounding as unsteady as John’s. 

After several long moments, they pulled apart. Flint kept his hands at John’s waist, seemingly unable to let him go just yet. With a laugh, John shook his head. 

“Imagine if they could see us now, Captain Flint and Long John Silver crying in each other’s arms,” he said, feeling the weight of his relief. He’d been so worried that, despite the letter, Flint would be angry with him. Would hate him. That maybe the letter was a trap, one he followed like a lemming to the edge of a cliff. But, given Flint’s reaction, and the dazed smile still quirking up one side of his mouth, he didn’t think so. In fact, he’d never felt less trapped in his life. 

“John,” Flint started, “I must know. Why are you here?”

John’s breath hitched. He couldn’t remember Flint ever calling him by his given name before. His chosen name, technically, but still. Hearing it now flipped his heart right over in his chest. Realizing he’d been holding his breath, he sighed. 

“When I got your letter, I was so angry. That you could go and forgive me for what I’d done to you, and that you, well. But then I read it again. And it seemed like you wanted me to come. Like you cared about me. I simply couldn’t resist.” 

“I do care about you, John. I always have. I’m sorry too. For betraying you when I promised you my loyalty. For making you choose between my war and Madi’s life. And for not writing you sooner.”

He reached out slowly, carefully tucking one of John’s wayward curls behind his ear. Tears filled John’s eyes: since their separation three years prior, he never thought he’d feel his Captain’s touch again. To be touched now, in such a tender manner, eased an ache in John had he hadn’t even known he’d felt. 

“You did, then? You wanted me to come?”

“So badly. I must have written a hundred letters to you, if not more. And I burned each one, not sure whether I could stand to make myself vulnerable to you again. But I’m glad you’re here. I’m so glad you’re here.” 

John’s tears flowed in earnest now. He pulled away from Flint, trying to settle himself. All the times he’d pictured their reunion, this is not an outcome he’d ever expected. He’d anticipated rage, or smugness, or maybe even thanks for returning Thomas to him. But never forgiveness, and never affection. It was almost too much to bear. 

“I could have done so many things differently,” he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. 

“Yes, you could have,” Flint said. “But you did what you thought was the only option to see us all safe. You were right, John, it never would have stopped. _I_ never would have stopped. You gave me a life back, you gave me Thomas back. So yes, maybe you could have done things differently, but I can find no fault with the things you did.” 

The clock chimed again, startling them both. Thomas — who, John remembered with a start, had been present the whole time — stood slowly from the table, the ghost of a smile upon his face. 

“My shift,” he said softly. “I’ll be heading up to the light deck now. James, why don’t you show John to his room. I’m sure he’s weary from his journey. John, it was a pleasure to finally meet you.” With that, Thomas kissed Flint on the cheek, nodded at John, and slipped out of the room. As he climbed the stairs, faint notes echoed back to the kitchen. Thomas was whistling. _What an odd man_, John thought to himself. 

He looked over at Flint, who was also staring at the doorway through which Thomas had disappeared. He shook himself like a dog coming out of a river, then looked at John, a small smile on his lips. Since his arrival, John thought to himself, he’d already seen Flint smile — genuinely smile — more than he had almost the entire time they’d known each other, before. _Maybe he’d done something right after all.  
_

“He’s right, you know. You should rest.” 

Flint walked over to the second set of stairs, throwing a backwards glance at John. 

“You coming?”

____________________________

James closed the door and leaned against the wall in the hallway, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. How could it be that he, the man who stared down the British Empire without a trace of fear, was terrified of the man standing on the other side of the door?

After showing Silver to his room and making sure he had everything he’d needed (not much really, the man was used to sleeping on beaches and pirate ships), he’d lingered in the doorway, unsure of what to say. Unsure, even, of what he’d wanted to say. But knowing he couldn’t walk through the door, couldn’t close the door, without some kind of promise. 

“Promise me —” he started, then faltered. Silver looked up from where he had been drawing his boot off his remaining foot. “Promise me you won’t leave after you wake up,” he’d finished, voice sounding almost as weak as it had when they’d been becalmed. He hated this, this weakness inside him. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Silver said, pushing himself up on his crutch. “I traveled across an ocean to get here, I’m not going to fuck off after twenty minutes of talking and a few hours sleep. I’ll be here.” 

With a nod, James left the room, telling himself he had no reason to disbelieve Silver. Any lies he’d told in the past were meaningless, now that he was here, in the home James and Thomas shared. 

Pushing himself upright from the wall, James headed to the light deck. He and Thomas needed to talk. 

He found Thomas exactly where he knew he would be: at the desk by the window, pouring over charts. Thomas, who had no previous maritime experience, struggled to decipher the codes contained in the nautical jargon, but he was determined to figure them out, to unlock their secrets. On days when the work elsewhere was light, James often helped him, but today was not that kind of day. 

No, today was the kind of day where he was reminded of exactly how much he loved Thomas. As he sat there, concentrating on the charts in front of him, James couldn’t help but admire the figure he cut in the sunlit room. The late afternoon rays hit his hair just right, illuminating the strands until they were the same shade of spun gold from James’s memory. The wrinkles around Thomas’s eyes — matching James’s own — were noticeable as he squinted at the pages, and James was immensely, immeasurably grateful to be able to see them. That he would one day get to see Thomas old and wrinkled, well, he simply didn’t think he deserved that. But, Christ, was he thankful for it. 

Thomas had not yet noticed James, who walked up behind him and placed feather-light kisses down the exposed column of his neck. Thomas groaned, leaning his head to the side to allow James better access. 

“Hello, my love,” he murmured, turning so James could kiss his lips. James took full advantage, breaking away only once his lungs started to burn for want of air. 

“Hello,” James smiled. “I missed you.” 

“I’ve only been up here for ten minutes,” Thomas said, a wink in his voice. “Surely Mr. Silver kept you occupied for that long?” 

“I don’t know what to say to him now,” James said. There was no shame in admitting this to Thomas. Just as there was no shame in kissing him, which is exactly what James did next. 

Thomas allowed himself to be kissed, to be drawn up from the desk at which he sat. He knew it, and James knew it. If Thomas has wanted to press the “Silver issue,” as James had taken to calling it, nothing in the world would’ve stopped him. In his life, James had known only two people as stubborn as Thomas. One of whom was their wife. The other was the pirate currently asleep in their guest room. Clearly, James had a type. 

As they kissed, James leaned Thomas back, until he was half-seated atop the desk. With one hand, James cupped the side of Thomas’s face, while his other caressed Thomas’s back, pulling him closer. His hand snaked around to the front, tugging at Thomas’s belt. 

With a groan, Thomas broke the kiss. “Wait,” he said, with a breathlessness that sent sparks of desire right to James’s hardening length. “We promised...not up here.”

”Well, we can’t exactly go downstairs now, can we,” James whispered, diving back in for a kiss. Thomas melted against him, two hands coming up to frame his face. The kiss deepened as James slipped his tongue into Thomas’s open mouth. Thomas’s grip on his face became a little stronger, a little more desperate as he moaned into the kiss. This time, he didn’t try to stop James as he deftly undid his belt and let it drop to the floor. He left the laces tied as he reached inside, knowing Thomas enjoyed the pressure of his breeches pressing James’s hand against his cock. James palmed him lightly at first, a teasing touch here, another there. Thomas groaned, dropping one hand down from James’s face to undo his belt buckle. 

“Please, James. More,” Thomas gasped. Slowly, James withdrew his hand from Thomas’s pants, and his lips from Thomas’s mouth. Looking Thomas in the eyes, he unfastened first Thomas’s pants and then his own, until both their cocks were free. Thomas jutted his hips slightly, pressing himself against James, eyes closing as the friction built between them. 

“Open your eyes, darling,” James commanded softly. Thomas watched as James took two of his own fingers into his mouth and sucked, repeating the gesture until his entire hand was covered in his spit. Then he reached down and took both their cocks in his spit-slicked hand, pumping them together in measured strokes. 

James dropped his head onto Thomas’s shoulder, letting the sensations wash over him. After only a few moments, he could feel himself getting closer, beginning to tug harder and less rhythmically. Thomas could feel it too, and ground his hips against James’s hand as he took his lips for another searing kiss. 

“Thomas, I can’t concentrate when you’re kissing me like that,” James said, arousal turning his voice ragged. 

“Good.” Thomas said. “I don’t want you to concentrate. Let go, James, let go and be with me, here.” 

He did. With a shout, he came over his own fist, spurting white streaks onto his and Thomas’s shirts. Thomas followed suit, until neither could tell where one ended and the other began. 

They stayed like that for a moment, foreheads pressed together, panting as they came back to themselves. 

“I don’t have anything to clean you with,” James said, opening his eyes. “I’ll go get us clean shirts.” 

“Wait a moment,” said Thomas, “let’s not wake our houseguest just yet. I assume he is asleep?”

“More than likely,” James said, “I’ve never known him not to sleep when the moment allows.” 

“And what are we going to do when he wakes?” 

There was a pause, as James weighed his answer. “Truthfully, I... don’t know.” He gaped at Thomas, momentarily lost in the magnitude of it all. Here he stood, his truest love wrapped in his arms, with Silver — his quartermaster, his friend, his betrayer, his salvation — sleeping downstairs. Eventually he would awaken, and they would need to talk. It didn’t matter what they said, really, he just didn’t want Silver to leave. Not now that he just found him again. 

“Thomas,” he began, knowing this was the easier of the two confessions he’d have to make. “I’m so sorry Thomas, I never meant for this to happen, but — ”

“But you love him.” 

Even though he had thought it a million times, had been just about to say it, the words hit James like a physical blow. Of course he loved Silver. Maybe he always had, since he’d been a thorn in his side with useful information and no idea how to cook a pig. But still, to have it out there in the open, even in front of Thomas, it was just... too much. 

“I know you love him, James. I have, ever since you first came back to me. Your feelings for him don’t diminish the love I have for you, nor the love you have for me. You know that.” 

God, he was a lucky, lucky man. Far luckier than he deserved. “I do know it,” James whispered, finding he could not speak of such things and remain unaffected. “I love you more than I could ever hope to express. I will not do anything to hurt you, Thomas. Say the word and Silver will never know of my feelings.” 

Thomas chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around James’s shoulders. “You are a fool, my love,” he said lightly. “Do you really think I would go through all the trouble of stealing your letter, sending a man to locate Mr. Silver, and then dispatching the letter to him just so you could send him away?”

When James didn’t answer right away, Thomas continued: “You are filled with love, more so than anyone I have ever met. When you fell in love with me, you already loved Miranda. When you fell in love with John, you loved me and Miranda first. Did any of these loves become less because of the existence of another? I shouldn’t think so. I rather believe that your love for him amplifies your love for me, and vice versa. So no, I will not send John Silver away, nor will I be hurt if you confess your feelings to him. In fact, I shall be hurt if you don’t — it would be incredibly rude of you, after I’d gone to such lengths to bring him here.” 

James chuckled, blinking back tears from his eyes. Christ, he’d become a weak man since leaving Nassau behind. Yet, he couldn’t find it within him to care. 

“I love you, I love you,” he said to Thomas, knowing the words themselves were but pale imitations of his true feelings. 

“I know you do. Come now, let’s get cleaned up. I have a lighthouse to tend to and you need to make dinner for our guest.“ 

And so they turned, hand in hand, and went down the steps. 

_________________________________

“So, why Salem?” John asked. 

It was sometime later, after dinner (which was significantly less awkward than James had anticipated; he was always amazed by Thomas’s way of pulling others into conversation). They were sitting in the parlor, Thomas and James on the settee, Silver on the lone armchair by the hearth, a fire blazing inside. They had already finished one bottle of wine and uncorked another, allowing the alcohol to loosen their tongues as they settled into a rhythm of asking one another questions. James, for his part, barely said a word, content to let the other two do most of the talking. He felt warmth bloom in his chest as he sat there, though whether that was from the fire, the alcohol, or the company, he didn’t know. Probably the last. 

“Why Salem?” Thomas repeated thoughtfully. “It seems to me as though there were a million reasons to come here. We certainly couldn’t stay in Georgia, and after Savannah, I wanted to be near the ocean. It had been years since I’d last seen it. And I missed the cold weather.” 

James interjected, “I honestly didn’t care. I would’ve gone wherever Thomas asked.”

“So he says,” Thomas says to Silver with an exaggerated eye-roll. “But he rejected several of my ideas before _ he _ finally suggested Boston. So we came up to Massachusetts Bay. Boston wasn’t quite to our liking though — far too many people, too interested in us as newcomers. We heard they were looking for lighthouse keepers further up north, so we came here. And we never left.”

“The lighthouse provides us with the perfect cover,” James said. “By its nature, we have to be almost completely isolated. And no one questions why two men are spending nearly all of their time together. It made perfect sense.”

“So, it had nothing to do with the witches?” John asked, face serene but a smile creeping behind his eyes.

James chuckled. “It seemed fitting. Besides, we thought Miranda would’ve appreciated it.” At the mention of her name, his voice grew soft, adrift in memory. 

A moment passed, each man lost in thought. James stared into the fire. Even after all this time, the pain of losing Miranda was nearly unbearable. The silence dragged on, growing heavier with each passing moment. Until...

“So, John, what have you been doing these past few years?” 

_ Thank you, Thomas, _ James thought to himself as he unconsciously straightened. As Silver began to speak, he searched his face closely, hoping he hadn’t lost the ability to discern the truth from the lies Silver would inevitably tell.

“A bit of this and a bit of that, really,” Silver started. “There isn’t much work for a one-legged former pirate king in society, so for a time I worked as a cook in Max’s tavern. She wanted me kept out of sight and, after everything, that’s what I wanted too. But it didn’t last forever and I went to Bristol to find work there. Then I got your letter, and here I am.” 

It seemed like the truth. Not all of it, mind, but true enough that James accepted it for now. He’d find out the rest later, he was certain. He wouldn’t let those three years slip into Silver’s shadowy past. 

“How did you escape Olgethorpe’s plantation?” Silver asked. 

Thomas looked at James, waving his hand in a way that meant “go on.” 

“Oglethorpe thought himself a good man, saving the disgraced sons of England without further shaming their families,” he began. “But, as a consequence, most of the men imprisoned at the plantation were like Thomas — they’d committed no crime save for who they were. And those with criminal pasts were mostly either gamblers or petty crooks. He had never had to deal with the likes of me before.”

Without missing a beat, Thomas picked up the thread of James’s story. “It was all surprisingly simple. Olgethorpe’s men were terrified of the fearsome Captain Flint, despite his manacles and their guns. So, I used what little favor I had earned in my years there to set up a meeting between myself and Olgethorpe. Except I wasn’t there. James went in my stead.”

“He was scared shitless when I walked in,” James said, a feral gleam in his eye. Even recounting the story, he felt the surge of power he associated with the long-dead Captain Flint. And it felt good. “All I did was talk to the man. And, just like that, he was no longer interested in running the plantation anymore. He let Thomas and I walk out without a backwards glance, and a few weeks later, quietly closed the plantation and freed the others.” 

“What did you say to him?” Silver wondered aloud, letting his voice drop into a conspiratorial tone. James saw the heat in his eyes, and knew his own reflected it as well. He had missed conspiring with Silver, even if the conspiracy was in the past. 

He felt Thomas lean closer to him, no doubt drawn in by the cadence of Silver’s tone. As were so many men before him. 

“I simply asked if he knew who I was and what I’d done. He did. And then I told him that I didn’t like how he ran his plantation. That I thought it probably shouldn’t exist.”

“That simple?”

“That simple.” The three men grinned at each other, the thrill of success exhilarating even now. 

James weighed his next words carefully, knowing that he was about to disrupt their genial mood. But still, he had to ask. 

“John,” he started, deliberately using the man’s given name, “what about Madi?”

In a blink, Silver’s face shuttered, his eyes going cold as quickly as a door slamming shut. James felt the chill right to down his bones. 

“You were right about that. She couldn’t forgive me and she left.”

_ Oh no. _ “I’m sorry, John,” James started. Silver cut him off with a bitter laugh. 

“How can you be sorry when you predicted this very thing would happen? When you practically spoke it into existence?”

James fought the urge to reach out and tug Silver into his arms. He hung his head, looking at his hands where they were clasped between his legs. 

“I never wanted it to happen,” he said softly. “I was angry, lashing out at you, trying to hurt you in the way that I was sure you were hurting me. At that moment, I believed you were taking everything from me. I couldn’t bear it. I had to take something from you too. But I never wanted it to happen. I wanted you to find happiness, John. If not with me, then with her.”

“If not with—“ Silver started, trailing off. He sat back, looking at James as though trying to figure out what was going on in his head. It was a look James remembered well. He let himself be studied, hoping that whatever Silver would find in his face would bring him assure him of the truth of James’s words. 

The silence may have continued indefinitely, if not for Thomas. Despite the tension, Thomas’s eyes sparkled, as his lips turned up into his most devastating smile. The smile that meant he was about to do something downright troublesome. 

“John, I find I simply cannot avoid asking this,” he said, with a pregnant pause. Thomas loved a dramatic reveal. “But were you with James when he got his lovely tattoo?”

That was all it took. Silver let out a bark of laughter, and within moments, they were all skating with mirth. James wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Silver laugh so fully, and Christ, he looked beautiful. The laughter, born no doubt from the relief at Thomas’s ability to cut through the tension as much as from the wine they continued to drink, died slowly. The buzz in James’s veins continued on. 

“No, I’m afraid I wasn’t. But it is a tale I have longed to hear,” Silver said with a smile. 

Two pairs of inquisitive blue eyes turned to James. He began to worry about what a friendship between these two would do to him. 

“Fine, I’ll tell you.” He said, “But you must promise not to laugh.”

“Absolutely not!” Thomas promised solemnly. 

“You have my word,“ said Silver, tone implying exactly how much his word _ didn’t _ mean.

“I was fairly new in Nassau at the time, and Hal — Mr. Gates — convinced me that I needed to spend time with the crew we’d just acquired. So we went to Guthrie’s tavern and had quite a few drinks. Richard Guthrie ran the tavern then, and he never cut anyone off the way Eleanor did, later.” James paused, realizing that here, by the fire, ensconced in the lighthouse with the two people who knew him best, he could actually enjoy telling this story. This story in which he was the only character still alive. 

“I hadn’t wanted to drink that much — it was the first time I was ever drunk while in Nassau — but we had a boatswain at the time named Louden, and he kept refilling my mug when I put it down. And Hal wanted me to get drunk, told me it was one way to earn the men’s respect. Well, anyway, long story short, Hal suggested that I couldn’t be a proper pirate without a tattoo. And voila,” he said, rolling up his sleeve to cheekily show off his bicep. 

“Actually,” he said, as an afterthought, “De Groot went too. That’s when he got the sea turtle.” 

John was now wheezing with laughter. “You mean, you and De Groot, have matching tattoos!?” he spluttered. 

“They aren’t matching!” James said hotly, feeling a blush rise in his cheeks. “And besides, before the Urca, we were...well not friends, exactly, but we got along well enough.” He stretched suddenly, letting out a loud yawn. 

“I think that’s enough revelry for one evening,” said Thomas. “We should go to bed.” He unfolded himself from his position on the settee, offering first a hand to James and then one to Silver. James smiled, knowing Thomas had only offered to help him so that he could help Silver, whose leg undoubtedly ached from his long journey. 

The men walked upstairs together, Thomas going left into the bedroom he shared with James, while James and Silver stood in the hallway, neither ready to turn away from the other. 

“Promise me,” James began, as he had earlier that day. 

“I promise.” Silver said. 

Without thinking, James leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Silver’s forehead. He heard Silver suck in a breath, but he didn’t move away. 

“Goodnight,” he said. 

“Goodnight, James,” Silver responded, softly. 

________________________________

John barely slept, these days. What sleep he got was plagued by nightmares. More often than not, it seemed, he awoke gasping for air. Reaching for a warm body that was no longer in his bed. 

So, it was a bit surprising for him for find himself awoken by the sunlight streaming through his window. At least, he thought that’s what had awoken him, until he heard the rhythmic creaking coming from the other room.

Try as he might, John couldn’t not hear the sounds emanating from the room Flint shared with Thomas. The sound of the bed moving, the sound of whispers, though he (thankfully) could not make out the words spoken. The muffled sounds spoke to him of love, for their pace was unhurried, slow. Oh, how he missed it. Missed those peaceful mornings with Madi. How he wished he could have it again. 

John gave up on trying not to hear, instead closing his eyes and basking in the peace of the house. Intending to, anyway, before he glanced down at his own cock and realized that he was rock hard and leaking onto his stomach. 

“No,” he told it, hoping his cock, unlike the rest of his traitorous self, would listen. “No, we are not doing this.” 

But even as he said it, his hands wandered down his belly as if on their own volition. With soft touches, he stroked himself in time with the sounds from the other room. Giving up completely on any shred of self-respect he had left, John laid his head back on the pillow and began to stroke himself in earnest. His other hand came up and played with his nipples, as he let his mind wander, wonder. 

And he did wonder. Wondered what it would be like to kiss his Captain, to hold Flint’s body over his and feel the press of their skin against each other. To be the ones making the bed groan, instead of listening on the wrong side of two closed doors. 

Unbidden, Thomas entered John’s fantasy. John stroked himself faster, brow furrowing, as he imagined what it would be like to have the attention of both Flint and Thomas. John wondered if he would ever get to taste Thomas’s skin too, to know his warmth alongside Flint’s. 

As the sounds from the other room rose to a crescendo, John came hard, stars bursting behind his eyes as he bit into the pillow to muffle any sounds he was making. He laid there for a moment, covered in his own seed, fighting the feeling of guilt washing over him for intruding on such a private moment. Shaking away the thought, he raised himself up from the bed and hopped over to the small washstand to clean himself. 

It took far less time to clear away the mess on John’s body than the one in his head. He loved Flint, he knew that for certain. But Flint loved Thomas, and he was a mere intruder in their lives. Except. 

Except it hadn’t felt that way, yesterday. 

Yesterday, John felt wanted. Not physically, necessarily, but like his presence mattered. He hadn’t felt that way in a long time — since the Walrus, since he last stood by his Captain’s side. And Flint’s (here he corrected himself, James’s, that was James who spoke, Flint was long gone) words, and his actions, suggested that maybe, just maybe, he wanted John in his life. 

“If not with me...” he’d said. “Promise me,” he’d said. John had never in his life made a promise that he wanted to keep more. He didn’t want to search anymore, didn’t want to run anymore. All he wanted was to stay, and to rest. And to do so with James. He had only to figure out how. 

John grabbed his crutch and made his way down to the kitchen, to prepare breakfast for the other men, who he knew would venture out of their room soon enough. He found some suitable ingredients in the pantry and set to work. 

***

“That smells delicious,” Thomas said, walking into the kitchen just as John was pulling bread out of the fireplace. 

“Since when have you known how to bake bread?” James asked, following behind. 

“I told you, I worked at Max’s tavern for a while. She was much less willing to put up with my cooking than you were.”

“I’m sure she was less willing to put up with most things than I was.”

“True. She certainly never named me as her successor,” John said with a wink. 

“If I remember correctly,” James said, “neither did I.”

“Maybe not, but you certainly trained me as one.” 

James didn’t respond to that; he didn’t have to. They both knew that their training sessions on the cliffs were about so much more than John’s ascension to the throne of piracy. John could almost feel the heat of the island sun, warming him at the memory. 

Oh, how he wanted to see James smile like that again. 

“You must be an awfully early riser to have had time to bake the bread,” Thomas said, bringing Silver’s focus back to the present. “But then, I suppose the house does get rather loud in the mornings. I hope you didn’t mind.” 

Silver looked at him, horrified to feel color rising in his face. He couldn’t know. There way no way he could know. But he did. It was written on his face, in what might be the most sinful smile John had ever seen. Though, it hadn’t escaped John’s notice that nearly every expression looked sinful on Thomas’s lips. They were simply obscene. 

“I need to go into town today,” John said, abruptly, ignoring the way Thomas smirked at the oh-so-subtle change of topic. “I left some things at the inn there that I would like to retrieve.” 

“I was planning to go today as well, to go to the market,” said Thomas. “Perhaps you’d like some company?” Stifling a groan, John could see he’d made a grave error. Now, instead of fleeing Thomas’s knowing gaze, he’d be stuck under it all day. 

And so they went, Thomas on his horse and John on James’s. 

The day passed significantly less excruciatingly than John had anticipated. Thomas was easy to talk with, and after a while he was at ease, having realized that Thomas did not judge him for his earlier weakness. In fact, Thomas seemed to revel in it, if the smirk constantly tugging at his lips was any indication. Cheeky bastard. 

After relatively uneventful trips to the market and the inn (though Thomas did quirk a brow when the innkeeper called John “Mr. Muldoon”), Thomas insisted they stop at the printer’s shop before returning to the lighthouse. 

While Thomas went inside, Silver waited with the horses, contentedly gazing at the lighthouse splitting the horizon. It stood tall, undisturbed by the waves crashing around it. John smiled to himself – it reminded him of Flint. However, when Thomas still hadn’t come out after what he deemed a more-than-reasonable amount of time, Silver grew restless. Dismounting, he went in to find out what, exactly, was taking the man so long. 

The moment he went inside, Silver realized he’d been played for a fool. He’d assumed Thomas wanted to ask the printer about a book or a pamphlet he was interested in. But what the printer had in his shop was something infinitely more dangerous than a fresh copy of _ Meditations _ or the King’s Bible. 

“No,” he said, looking around at the tens — hundreds — of pamphlets full of anti-English propaganda. “No,” he repeated, louder, as Thomas handed papers over to the printer and the printer handed him money in exchange. “No, you’re not a seditionist. You’re not. I _ ended _ this.” 

“Are you really so arrogant?” Thomas asked, tone deceptively light. 

“Beg pardon?” His voice grew deeper, deadlier. Piratical, even. Sensing trouble, the printer silently backed away from the two men. 

“You cannot truly believe that you can control his actions — control _ my _ actions— just because you decreed it so? My, perhaps you would’ve made a good king after all.” Anger simmered in his eyes. 

Rage tore through John, his knuckles turning white as they gripped his crutch. “How dare you. You have no idea what I gave up, just so that he could live. So that he could be reunited with you. Do not ever question the sacrifices I made or the things I made happen.”

“I know what you did, John, and I’m grateful for it. But even you cannot truly believe that James would just give up his goals because we were reunited. You don’t know me, so I shall grant you some leeway. But you must know that he fought his war for a vision of what I saw. What I saw of England back then pales in comparison of what I know of her depravity now. After the hell I went through over the last decade, the likes of which you cannot imagine, I will never roll over and play dead. And I’ll thank you not to ask it of me.” 

Thomas drew himself up to his full height, clearly expecting some kind of response from John. But he had none to give. Sagging onto his crutch, he let out a long sigh. 

“I just want him to be safe. Want you both to be safe.” 

“We will be. I write under a pseudonym. He keeps hawklike surveillance over our home. And now we have not one, but two, of the most feared pirates of the new world protecting our family. We will be safe, John. Trust me.” 

John stared at him. Could he truly know what he was asking? Thomas looked so self-assured. Surely he understood what it meant to ask a man like John Silver for his trust. Reaching out, Thomas placed a hand on John’s shoulder. 

“Come John, let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Coming up next: storms & smut!


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